


The Fight

by sorallellow



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Dark Betty Cooper, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Sex, Strippers & Strip Clubs, hope someone out there enjoys this?? idk, so I just wrote this instead ofsleeping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 16:19:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13685292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorallellow/pseuds/sorallellow
Summary: Her neck itched, but she resisted the urge to run her fingers across the smooth flesh, to feel the slightly rasied, slightly swollen skin that rested under the fresh tattoo. A train whooshed past, squeaking to a stop in front of her. With a clear head and a beating heart, Betty picked up her suitcase from the platform floor and stepped onto the train.Another whoosh. And just like that, she was gone.





	The Fight

Betty bit her lip, her hands messing with the straps of her rucksack. Her feet were restless, her arms shaking slightly; but her turquoise eyes were as clear and determined as ever.

Her neck itched, but she resisted the urge to run her fingers across the smooth flesh, to feel the slightly rasied, slightly swollen skin that rested under the fresh tattoo. A train whooshed past, squeaking to a stop in front of her. With a clear head and a beating heart, Betty picked up her suitcase from the platform floor and stepped onto the train.

Another whoosh. And just like that, she was gone.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

The soft light of midday roused Jughead from a deep, dreamless sleep. He rubbed his eyes, his cheek stuck to the soft fabric of his pillow, his nose buried in the scent of her. His sat up, looking around groggily, confused, the other side of the bed bare and unslept in.

He kicked off the bed sheets and padded into the kitchen.

“Betty?” He called, after finding the room empty. He walked to the sitting room, picturing her sat on the couch, hair mussed, munching on a piece of toast eyes glued to daytime TV.

Hotdog sat in front of the empty coach, and whined pitilessly at Jughead. He rolled his eyes, then his neck, and opened the front door for him. The tiny dog ran passed his legs, yipping in that high-pitched way which felt, at this precise moment, to Jughead like nails down a chalk-board. He watched, brows furrowed, as the dog sped into the front garden.

As he walked back into the kitchen he thought about how Betty would have let Hotdog out if she’d woken first. He felt for his phone in his sweatpants and hastily unlocked it. No new message, no nothing. He swallowed the hard lump in is throat.

Jughead went into the kitchen and fixed himself a bowl of cereal, all the time, his expression dark, a million thoughts racing through his head- but one thought in particular.

The fight.

It replayed on loop as he walked over to the couch, as he sat down, as he munched on his Honey Clusters, the gnashing of his jaw setting the rhythm for their words, his curses, Betty’s voice.

_This isn’t the life I thought we’d have._

_What do you want from me? What, to be some good little north-sider? Like Archie and Veronica?_

_Why had he said that_ , he thought to himself, but then he reasoned, why had she brought it up in the first place? He’d never _asked_ her to join the Serpents, he’d never even wanted her to, if he was honest with himself. But she’d made him feel like he was keeping something from her, a part of his world, that he was being selfish because he wanted the Serpent’s to be _his_ thing.

And maybe it was because there was a little truth in that, that Jughead had relented. He’d watched her get that damned tattoo, even kissed the pulsing, raw mark on the couch that night, and she’d breathed his name, her voice hitched, her legs around his waist, fingers digging into his back like she couldn’t get enough, like he was the only real thing she’d ever touched. And yes, he’d watched her she dance in front of all his friends. He’d hated every second of it, hated all the eyes on her, hated her eyes, for the first time since he’d met her. There was something so _alien_ about them- and he knew he was seeing a different side of her, one that was a stranger to him. It made him feel like he was just another one of the crowd. And at some point during the performance, he realised it was because that’s how she saw him.

_I’m suffocating here, Jughead._

That distance between them hadn’t ended with her dance.

Hotdog was yipping to be let in, so Jughead put his cereal bowl down and walked to the door. As his hand twisted the doorknob, the sound of voices twisted in from outside, accompanied by the crunch of gravel. His heart leapt and he raced outside, bare feet grazing slightly against the gravel, his mind screaming her name.

He stopped in his tracks.

Veronica and Archie stood blinking at him in the mid-July heat.

Jughead shoulder’s slumped as he tried to swallow his disappointment. “What are you guys doing here?” He realised the bluntness of his words as they left his mouth, but for once, didn’t care.

Veronica shared a glance with Archie, her neat, dark brows knotting, before she looked back at Jughead. “Can we come inside?”

 

“I’d offer you some juice or something, but we haven’t got anything in…” Jughead said awkwardly, scratching his neck as they sat down on the couch, looking so completely out of place in their designer summer attire.

Their stiff, uncomfortableness didn’t help. Archie leaned forward, as if bracing himself for something, “Jughead, there’s something—”

Veronica cleared her throat, interrupting him. Jughead felt the tension in the air like a weight on his chest. She outstretched a hand, an envelope resting in her black lace gloves.

Jughead took it, brows furrowed at her in a silent question.

“Betty came by my house last night,” she explained, her voice clipped, forcibly calm. “She said—” her breath hitched. Jughead was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “She said she was sorry.”

“Sorry,” he repeated, staring at nothing, feeling nothing, expect hot tears well up in his eyes.

A cool hand patted his arm. “Jughead, it’s not your fault. There’s nothing you could have—”

“I need you to leave,” Jughead eyes pierced Archie’s. “Please,” he added hoarsely.

Veronica nodded, her dark eyes heavy with sympathy as she led Archie towards the trailer door. Just before they left, she turned to him. “If you need anyone to talk to…” She gave a weak smile. “We’re here. We’re always here.”

Jughead didn’t say anything as the door swung shut, just stared at the letter, tears streaming down his cheeks.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

Her name was Harriett, Hatty for short, she told the woman at _Silk_. The woman raised her thinly plucked brows and sighed, scribbling it down in her little black notebook.

“Previous experience?”

“None,” she said, her tone confident, her voice ever so soft. “Not outside of a webcam, anyway.” she added.

The woman’s eyes weighed Betty for a moment, pen hovered over the page. Then she stood up, walked over to her and roughly shoved up her sleeves. Her aged hands traced Betty’s arms, and it took a moment for her to realise she what she was searching for.

She then inspected her stomach, her thighs, her ass, her newly cut and dyed hair, then last of all her face, hand grabbing her chin and turning it from side to side. All the while Betty stood with her head high, eyes unflinching, following the woman’s every movement.

“Remind me who sent you?” She asked bluntly.

“Byrdie,” she replied.

The woman’s brows raised. “Uh-huh,” she said, sceptical. She walked back, lowering herself back into her seat. “You have a family? A boyfriend?”

Betty shook her head. “No one.”

She stared at her for a long moment. “You start Friday,” she stamped the book. “Get here early. One of the other girls will show you round.”

Relief blossomed in Betty’s chest. She nodded, swallowing. “You won’t regret this,”

The woman nodded before waving her away, eyes already back on her black book.

 


End file.
